


Get Your Game Face On

by nepetrel



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gay Awakening, Oblivious Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 03:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nepetrel/pseuds/nepetrel
Summary: America Chavez. Kate nodded.She was going to make America cry.





	Get Your Game Face On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CloudAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/gifts).



Kate had always been the kind of person who needed some kind of physical release from tension.

(No, not like _that!_ Well. Not _exclusively_ like that.)

Archery used to be her coping mechanism of choice, but apparently if you kept shooting arrows until your fingers cracked and bled and then kept going for an hour or so, the resultant mess of bandages would freak out everyone from your neighbors to your doctor. She'd been advised to try a team sport instead. “Something where people will make you stop,” was the subtext there.

Clint told her she needed to get it together. Clint had _no room to talk_. 

That was how she'd ended up at a beach volleyball meetup. It sounded like a good idea, hitting things repeatedly while working on her tan. She'd never played volleyball, but it couldn't be _that_ hard. 

She was paired with a nice girl named Cassie, who assured her they had this. “I've got your back!” She said cheerfully. Kate liked Cassie.

Then she turned to see their opponents across the net and her mouth dried up. 

The woman standing there hadn't bothered to tie her hair back, instead keeping her long, dark curls barely restrained by a beanie. Her blue t-shirt did nothing to disguise how broad her shoulders were, and her tiny dark shorts deliberately showed off how strong her thighs were. She was tall. She was dark. She was _definitely_ handsome. 

(There was probably some other girl on her team too. Whatever.)

She was also smirking. “Is it your first time?” 

“What?” Kate asked, dazed. 

“Playing volleyball.” She looked Kate up and down. “You're not exactly dressed for it.” 

Kate touched her pink top self-consciously, and then glared. _No one_ made Kate self-conscious.

Sure, it was a lot looser than what everyone else was wearing, but she was sure it'd work out.

(It did not work out.)

True to her word, Cassie was amazing. Every time the ball looked like it was going to sail over her head, she somehow returned the serve. She saved Kate's bacon plenty, enough that Kate thought Cassie must be magically growing to cover so much of the court. But Cassie couldn't be everywhere, and the woman across from them had a _vicious_ arm and equally vicious aim. Kate hit the sand face-first again and again as she tried and failed to keep her spikes from slamming into the ground. 

It was a miserable slaughter. Kate missed the last point and that was it; defeat, face-down in the sand, with sand down her back and up her bra. She groaned and looked up, where the woman across from her was flexing and kissing her perfect, glistening bicep. She _hated_ her.

“What's her name?” Kate hissed to Cassie as she hauled herself back up. 

“That's America,” Cassie said. “America Chavez.” 

America Chavez. Kate nodded.

She was going to make America cry.

 

The next week, Kate walked up to the beach volleyball meetup in a pair of sunglasses and the tightest purple bathing suit she owned. She'd watched about a hundred volleyball tutorials on youtube and spent several hours practicing serves in her apartment. She'd even bought her own volleyball, a custom purple job she already loved. She was ready to take America on.

She saw her from behind – same outfit, but with her hair tucked under a snapback this time. Kate caught herself checking out America's ass and had to shake her head, dizzily wondering why she did that (aesthetic appreciation?), before snapping back to what was important. “Hey, America!” 

America turned and waved lazily. “Hey, princess.” 

“I – what?”

America crossed her arms. It made her biceps tighten distractingly. “I didn't catch your name last time, but you seemed like a princess type.”

Yeah, she was going down. “It's Kate. Want to go?”

America raised an eyebrow. “Go?”

Kate held up the volleyball in her hand.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” America led the way...not to one of the already set up courts, but to an abandoned stretch of beach. Then she gestured impatiently at Kate. “Hey, give me that.” 

Kate had no idea what was going on, but she handed the ball over anyway.

America took it like it was her due. “Purple, nice. Okay, when you serve you're going to want to stand with your feet farther apart, and your arm ready.” She demonstrated by widening her own stance, her feet staggered so one was in front of the other. “Then throw the ball above your head, jump for it, and hit it with the heel of your hand, but so your whole body is behind it, yeah?”

“I didn't come here for lessons!” Kate said. “I came here to beat you!”

America dropped her serving posture to look incredulously at Kate. “If you want to beat me, you have to get better first.”

Kate scowled and ripped the ball out of America's had. “Okay, so I'm standing with my feet apart, like this, and my arm ready to hit, like this – ” 

“Little further back,” America said, adjusting Kate's arm. Her hands were really warm. Kate could feel how strong they were just from that little touch. 

Kate tried a serve. She knew it had gotten too much air before it even skid across the sand, and sure enough – too far away. 

“Hey, way better than last week already,” America said. “Now go get it.” And then she smacked Kate's ass. 

Kate jerked forward, then made herself walk to get the ball to make it look like that's what she meant to do. No barely restrained squeak here, no. 

America ran her through a bunch of different ways to hit and return hits. She even had Kate practice catching spikes, and she did _not_ go easy on her. By the end, Kate was panting, covered in sand, and had faceplanted a few times. But just once or twice, not a million, and her bra remained wonderfully sand-free. 

America clapped for her at the end, only partly sarcastically. She hadn't done anywhere near as much running and flailing as Kate, so she wasn't sweaty and covered in sand, just golden in the light of the sun. “You're definitely winning the award for most improved,” she said. “Maybe you'll actually put up a fight sometime.” 

Kate pointed at her. “Next week,” she warned. “I'm coming back twice as strong and kicking your ass.” 

“Good luck.” She tossed Kate's volleyball to her. “Next week I might be a little late, actually – let's swap numbers, I can text you when I'll be here.”

“Sure!” Kate said, not sure why her voice was suddenly higher-pitched.

America put her name in Kate's phone as AMERICA CHAVEZ, all caps, with a little star next to it. For some reason it made Kate smile every time she saw it. 

Looking forward to beating her, probably.


End file.
